


Domesticity

by purewanderlust



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley is cranky. Az helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domesticity

It was Tuesday and it was raining. Aziraphale was enjoying a quiet afternoon with a first edition of Paradise Lost when the front door opened, then slammed, rattling the walls. A bonzai that had been perched in the windowsill slipped and crashed to the floor. “Serves you right,” a malicious voice growled from the hall. “Oh dear.” Aziraphale sighed as Crowley stomped into the sitting room.

“Where’ve you been all day?” the angel inquired calmly.

“Out.”

“In the rain?” Aziraphale finally looked up from his book. Crowley stood before him as drenched as if he’d just climbed from a swimming pool. “But you could catch cold!”

Crowley looked at him incredulously, “No I couldn’t.”

“Well, what if it was a holy storm?” the angel insisted, “You could catch blessing. Why not just stay in?”

“Nothing to do around here,” the demon mumbled, “You just sit there reading your books,” he added with derision.

Aziraphale sat his book down on the end table. “Why, my dear, if you wanted to do something together, you should have just said so.”

“I never said I wanted to spend time together!” groused the demon without much heart. Azirphale’s lips twitched, “Oh don’t look at me like that, angel, you don’t know anything.”

The angel merely got to his feet and went to bustle in the kitchen. Crowley followed him to the doorway, still protesting. “Even if I did want to spend time with you—and I’m not saying I do—I wouldn’t want to spend it home being domestic!”

Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear his protests, heating the kettle and pouring them both a cup of tea. “For an angel, you are a terrible listener,” Crowley commented. The angel smiled at him, shoving a cup of tea into his hands and frog-marching him to the couch. “Honestly, you’re impossible,” the demon grumbled as Aziraphale gently pushed him onto the sofa and flung a duvet over him, “How is this any better than watching you read?”

Fifteen minutes later, though, curled together on the sofa, marathoning Fry and Laurie on the telly (Crowley had insisted)…it really didn’t seem so bad.


End file.
